


Wayward Officers

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad POV, Canon Era, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-20
Updated: 2008-08-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6805768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You kidding? Brad needs to jerk off more than everyone in Alpha Company <i>combined</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Officers

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened. 
> 
> Set the night after their trek through Al Gharraf, March 25th. Spoilers for Part 2 "The Cradle of Civilization." Originally posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/311320.html).

"Can't a man jerk off in peace around here?" Brad asked the night, dry as the dust swirling around their feet. Footsteps halted for half a beat, then resumed. 

Brad half-smiled. Only a couple people would interrupt him right now. And Person would've made far more noise going about it.

Nate materialized from the dark, features inscrutable but that was just the dark. His head dipped and Brad guessed he must be exaggeratedly eyeing Brad's body. Teasing, then. "Jerking off in full MOPP gear? Brad, I had no idea you had a sandpaper fetish."

"I'm a recon Marine. I'm an alpha-male badass motherfucker. I climbed Mt. Shasta on a broken ankle with a hundred pounds of gear. I can jerk off with crushed fucking _glass_ and still say 'please sir, can I have some more.'"

By the end Nate actually chuckled aloud. He sighed and relaxed against the berm next to Brad.

Score one for the home team. 

"Can't sleep?" Nate asked after a beat.

Brad shook his head, then realized Nate might not see the move given the dark and the ever-present dust. "Every time I lay down I get shot at or woken up to go find wayward officers. Figured I might as well sleep standing up, right here." He patted the berm, which was actually the perfect height if Brad had wanted to sleep standing up. He could lean back against it, fully stretched out, and there was _still_ a ways to go before it crested. 

"How's that workin' out for you?" Nate asked.

"Couldn't say. I keep getting woken up by wayward officers." 

"Ah, but this one isn't wayward."

"Well, now you've gone and ruined the order of my universe. Whatever shall I do with myself?" A gentle tease but Brad couldn't help himself. It was like reflex. Nothing he could resist.

Nate shifted closer; less than a foot separated them. Considering Brad could see Nate—soft, tired eyes, always _watching_ him these days—it was a fair bet he could also be seen. And Nate knew how to read him, too well. 

Brad turned and peered out into the inky darkness. A distant firefight was almost picturesque and certainly enough of an excuse.

"You need to sleep," Nate said, voice lower, like when he was trying to be Mr. Serious Officer...and yet it didn't have that official ring to it that would have made Brad's spine straighten.

Brad flicked his eyes toward Nate, enough to see the intent expression there, then away. "Don't worry, sir. I won't endanger the mission...whatever the mission is," he added, just because it was retarded and they both knew it.

Nate didn't take the bait. "I'm not worried about the mission; I'm worried about you."

"But you know as well as I do that the mission comes first. Then maybe you can think about the men."

"I don't believe the two need be separate," Nate said, admonishment in his tone.

Brad finally met his eyes. Nate held the look. That was...not what he should be doing right now, staring at his platoon commander while the babies around them humped into their fists. 

The night was frigid around them and still all Brad could feel was the sweat trickling down his spine. _So_ fucked. Pathetic, really.

Eventually Brad nodded, just to do something other than get caught in this—this thing he could feel getting ever closer. He needed a distraction, a goal. 

Right. Sleep. "Then I guess there'll be no jerking off for me." He'd meant it to be light. It...may not have come out as he'd intended.

Nate looked down and away, tight smile on his lips.

Brad's hands twitched, wanted to touch. He curled them into fists and propelled himself off the berm. "You might wanna be careful wandering along the berm at night. You can't believe how many pathetic pussy fucks really are out here, MOPP suits around their ankles, jerking themselves to hell and back." His voice sounded over-loud. So fucking fucked.

"I'm glad I didn't stumble on you in that state." But Nate didn't sound particularly glad about it. He sounded...Brad didn't know what. Something he didn't recognize. And couldn't see given the darkness. Nate's eyes always gave him away, but visibility out here was shit and Brad wasn't about to get any closer. Not right now, not with the combat buzz still sweeping through his system and making him _want_ —

Scrabbling on the other side of the berm had both of them tensing, but then a helmet popped up and leaned over them. "You kidding? Brad needs to jerk off more than everyone in Alpha Company _combined_ ," Person intoned, like he was giving a well-loved speech. "In fact, I'd say the situation called for a nice anal lubing if I weren't convinced anything stuck up his ass would get compressed into individual molecules, he's wound so tight. Hey, boss, think I should organize a circle-jerk while we've got some downtime? It'll make you feel better..." Person tapered off—amazingly.

Brad made sure his voice came out so even it would raise his hackles. "Yes, Person, right after you tell the dear LT how you want guys to jerk you off and we arrange for your dishonorable discharge."

Beside him Nate huffed out a laugh. Ray didn't even pause. "Hey, LT. Am I interrupting a rendezvous?" His tone hadn't changed at all. He must be adding NoDoz to his Ripped Fuel cocktail again. That particular combination always made him heedless of Brad's temper. "See, Brad, even the _LT_ knows how much you need to get off. Gentlemen, do continue your illicit and vaguely scandalous assignation. I'll go hold the rest of these retards at bay. So you can have some _privacy_."

"Person, did you need something?" Brad asked, impatient now. And not at all thinking about others' opinions on his needing to get laid. Or bullets whizzing by or pretty mouths or temptation so very close at hand.

"Oh, right. Encino Man came by lookin' for the LT, so I thought I'd give you a heads up in case you wanted to set an ambush or anything. I mean, he's an officer wandering around in the dark _and_ he's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box. No one would even _blink_ if he suddenly stepped on a Claymore and blew his fucking Cro-Magnon skull to itty bitty pieces...and then we all toasted his dearly departed form. Am I right? Of course I'm right."

Ray took a breath, so Brad quickly jumped in. "Thank you, Person, for that very timely message."

"Anytime, boss. So, I'll let you two get to it. What do you think? Three minutes? I say three minutes is plenty. I'll just be over here doing a countdown, possibly stealing Lilley's camera, you know, in case anybody needs me."

Then he was gone and it was blessed silence—beyond distant sounds of bombing and the usual white noise generated by hundreds of Marines in the vicinity. 

"Gosh, I wonder how you could get wound so tight," Nate said, companionable.

And now even _he_ was mocking Brad's sex life. Person's death was gonna be slow and painful.

No, scratch that. The man was way too good with the radios. No, Brad was gonna make him go cold turkey off the stimulants. Even steal his instant coffee. _Then_ maybe he'd understand Brad's pain. Not totally satisfying, but sacrifices had to be made.

But still.

"No way that a bullet wouldn't take care of."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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